Firewatch on Whelping Day

I celebrated my 46th birthday by getting a haircut. I look fooken sharp. No, you can't see it; I look like every other fooken jarhead. And it was Sunday.

Still going blind, still cranky, still looking for permanent quarters. Currently shacked up in a motel here in Stumps; the building is largely populated by other devildawgs, and this has a certain measure of comfort.

I've been having a couple nights where I am compelled to keep watch. Not that I'm particularly annoyed by keeping watch; indeed, it is one of my favorite duties. But there are times when I don't have watch, when I needn't be vigilant, yet I am pointedly observant and extremely aware of my surroundings. It takes a special touch to calm me down on such nights. There are two men in this world who have such a touch; one is my buddy Joe, who is in overseas for three weeks, and the other is a former b/f who, even though he is so troubled as to believe the world (and I) hates him, is still among a select few treasured individuals who have places in my heart. We'll call him Echo Five.

I don't know how Joe or Echo Five do it. They know how to get my attention when I'm so far gone I don't respond to my name. They know how to remind me of my better angels, no matter how bad I want to tear out some cockbite's throat. They can stop me before I do something shameful.

I wish I knew where Echo Five was, but he will not talk to me; he tells himself I hate him, though I do not. He tells himself he is unworthy of love. He tells himself he is a bad man, when in his heart and soul, he is not. I often think of him when I keep watch like this.

I miss my brothers. I want them with me. Echo Five, this is Alphadawg, come back. Dragon 17, this is Alphadawg, come back. 40 Wax, Hitman, Bri-baby, Red Dawg, this is Alphadawg actual, come back.